


There's No Kink He Hasn't Tried

by aunt_zelda



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Aftercare, Age Play, Auction, BDSM, Bloodplay, Burnplay, Chastity Device, Electricity, Electrocution, Execution, F/F, F/M, Fight Sex, Gladiators, Gunplay, Human Furniture, Ice Play, Knifeplay, M/M, Multi, Mummification, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Piercings, Public Sex, Puppy Play, Rape Fantasy, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sensory Deprivation, Sex Toys, Shaving, Shibari, Slavery, Snuff, Spanking, Strap-Ons, Threesome - F/M/M, Triggers, Voyeurism, Wax Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-31
Updated: 2014-01-31
Packaged: 2018-01-10 17:31:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1162527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aunt_zelda/pseuds/aunt_zelda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a fic I wrote about a year ago, for a comment_fic prompt: <i>Methos: there's no kink he hasn't tried.</i> So I tried to cram in as many kinks into a short fic as I possibly could. Please read the tags carefully, I tried to tag for everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There's No Kink He Hasn't Tried

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted here at my livejournal: http://aunt-zelda.livejournal.com/312228.html  
> Prompt here: http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/397355.html?thread=66380331#t66380331
> 
> Let me know if I haven't warned for something, my intention is to entertain, never to trigger. 
> 
>  
> 
> VERY BRIEF allusion to scat/watersports.

The standard kinks, the baby steps people take when they first start out, he covered those long ago. Spanking, bondage, whipping, blindfolds … pedestrian. Hardly worth mentioning. When Methos picks up a girl in a bar and she blushes and whispers that she wants him to put her over his knee, he almost sighs with boredom. He does it anyway, hikes up her skirt and calls her a "naughty girl" and strikes her with the flat of his palm, gets her wet and squirming with need. She's a fine enough one-night stand, nothing remarkable but pleasant enough.

 

The toys become more and more elaborate as the centuries drag on, but they ultimately remain the same: large smooth objects to fill openings, bindings and contraptions to contort bodies into inviting or vulnerable positions, teasing things to stimulate sensitive parts. Methos appreciates the availability and safety of the newer toys, no more worrying about infections or breaking bits, at least, not so much as before when they dealt in wood and bone.

 

Bodily functions have never aroused him, but he has explored those avenues. His partners enjoy it well enough, but he fails to discover the appeal of it all, takes showers afterwards and resolves to avoid such scenes whenever possible.

 

Blood is another matter entirely. Methos loves to bite, suckle the skin of the neck until he can taste the blood he's drawn up through the skin, leave marks and tiny scars. He's met a few so-called "vampires" in his journeys, all interesting enough but not nearly as unique as they believe themselves to be.

 

He licks his way over his dom's boots, committing the taste to memory as it's not something he's ever tasted before. The metal belt around his waist, keeping his balls and cock in a viselike grip, is irksome, but he's willing to endure it because he knows the payoff will be worth it, so long as he's polite to this woman, this woman who thinks she's about ten years older than him when in reality he is older than she can begin to comprehend. She calls him "boy" and he smiles, even as she slaps him for being insolent.

 

For many years, he does not allow himself to do it. First he is horrified by the mere existence of such a sexual scenario. Then he is tempted, and avoids such things out of … guilt? Shame? He's beyond such emotions, but the thought of hurting another woman like that is something he will not do.

It's the 21st Century and he's slumming (though they don't know it) with a bunch of grad students. The topic comes up, somehow, and one of the women talks about society and expectations, women being told not to want sex despite them wanting sex … and as such crafting a fantasy where sex is "forced" on them and though they resist at first they come to like it and thus aren't labeled a "slut" afterwards for enjoying sex. She adds in a lot more words like "patriarchy" and "gender identity" and terms Methos is only starting to understand because they help him to seduce pretty grad students and stop him from getting tasered or pepper sprayed by said grad students.

So he tries it. He stops abruptly the first time, and the blonde sits up and has to calm him down, assure him that her safeword wasn't called, and if he doesn't want to go again that's fine, they can do other things.

He pins her down, growls, "You have no idea the things that I can do."

Her eyes widen in fear, genuine fear, knowing that if she calls her safeword now he won't listen.

Then he leaves her. Let other men play that role, he has lived the reality too many times already.

 

Something the 20th century brings is widespread and controlled electricity for all. As his partner ratchets up the voltage to clamps attached to his nipples, Methos appreciates this in a very intimate and surprisingly pleasurable way. The fact that this is occurring before an audience only adds to his arousal: Methos likes to show off, something his "dom" knows full well and takes great pleasure in displaying for her friends.

 

"Aren't you afraid?" the man pants, tracing the gun barrel along Methos' jawline.

Methos looks him square in the eye. "No."

Once, after a battle somewhere in Europe, a soldier captured him because their uniforms indicated that Methos was his enemy. He tied Methos up and fucked him with his rifle, then his cock, then his bayonet blade, and left him for dead.

Modern guns do not frighten Methos.

 

Knives go much the same way as guns have, his partners are excited at first, then frightened when they cut and cut and he never tells them to stop. Methos never tells them that it tickles, and he likes it more than anything else. The scars fade, but his penchant for cutting doesn't.

 

"Shit, sorry!" the redhead yelps in alarm, the candle she'd been using to drizzle hot wax onto Methos's chest slipping from her fingers and singeing his skin. "Shit, you need cold water, and some bandages, and maybe I should call the hospital, that looks bad -"

He grabs her wrist, stopping her.

"Do it again."

 

He's a good dog. He nuzzles Master's leg, pants for attention, whines when Master only runs a hand through his hair - fur. His collar itches but he likes it, because when Master tugs on it he rolls over and Master plays with him and he does tricks and he loves Master and Master loves him …

 

They tell Methos that he's the best Daddy they've ever had. He can't explain that it's because he's the oldest person they will never meet. He cuddles with them, reads to them, feeds them, and for those that wish it, strokes them under the blanket and tells them what good little girls and boys they've been. They're all well over twenty years old, many much older, but they're all so young to his eyes. They'll always be children to Methos, even when they're not in the playroom.

 

He's pretty sure he's going to get frostbite, but hey, the icecubes were his idea, not hers, for once.

 

Something he's glad to have picked up along his traveling is Kinbaku, later called Shibari in the West. Methos become so proficient that he's invited to give demonstrations for audiences. He tries to avoid too much public attention, but the applause after he's wrapped a naked young woman up in crisscrossing loops of rope is too much to resist forever.

 

Methos panics during the mummification scene. He just … can't. He was almost mummified around 500 B.C. and nearly spent centuries trapped in a tomb. He apologizes to his partner and heaves great gasps of breath, but he can't give an adequate explanation so he leaves and never returns.

 

"Now, don't you look nice?" she giggles, bringing over a mirror to show him his new piercings. He'll remove them soon and let the skin grow back, but for now … well, if it makes her happy he'll put up with it.

 

Of all the things he's tried, this is the one where his status as an Immortal is most useful. When a partner tightens a belt around Methos's neck, tapes a plastic bag over his head, puts their hands around his throat … Methos feels only excitement, never fears that they will kill him. They simply cannot. This is an old thing, goes back far before people had linked it entirely to arousal and merely laughed and jeered at the condemned men dangling from a gallows, jerking bodies displaying erections beneath their clothes.

Methos has been hanged. For vagrancy, witchcraft, theft, murder, espionage … every time he feels a rush of excitement as his feet drop and swing into empty air, as his legs kick and his eyes bulge and his lungs burn. He always gets hard, nearly always comes before "dying." The crowds used to cheer his death dances, but as the centuries go on executions are brought inside, away from the public, and the few officials overseeing the execution of a spy do not cheer or react, they merely watch, and take note of his time of "death." He misses the crowds, the show of it all, a crowded gallows and a drunken audience laughing at the final words of the condemned (usually jokes and dirty stories meant to entertain.) Methos wishes he could trust other Immortals enough to discuss this sort of thing, a mere mortal could never understand.

So, the belts, the bags, the fingers clutching around his throat … it's as close as he'll come to how it used to be.

 

He loves this one. Blindfolded, bound, gagged, something over his ears blocking out all sound … and he's in some kind of tank, floating … far away … silence …

 

Methos does not like to be ignored when he's doing something sexual with a partner or two. Being used as a chair is the epitome of being ignored. He puts up with it for the allotted time, thanks the group for the experience, but never returns.

 

The thirty-something man runs the razor down, and Methos has to fight to stay perfectly still.

"Good boy, there you go … nice and smooth …" the man smiles. "I'm going to give you the best blowjob of your life after this."

He doesn't, but it makes Methos's Top Thirty.

 

This is a unique experience for Methos: being fucked by a woman. With the aid of a toy, yes, and with his mouth around her boyfriend's cock while she does it, but still, she is thrusting into him with a cock of her own, so to speak. He finds he quite enjoys it, and repeats the process with the couple many times before the presence of another Immortal in town forces him to leave.

 

The Auction brings back unsavory memories of Moroccan slave markets. Being pawed at and looked over by strangers, sized up with lascivious eyes, fingers forced into his mouth to examine his teeth. It's all a game, yes, but Methos can't shake the remembrance of times when this sort of thing was no game.

He's "bought" for the evening by a leering bear of a man. But instead of the usual games, his new Master brings him to one of the larger rooms and shoves him into a crude arena. Another slave has been thrust in too, a man of similar build to Methos.

"Fight!"

The crowd cheers. Methos and the man fight, with Methos ultimately winning. He has centuries of combat experience to draw on. They're both panting by the end, sweating and well aware of how little they're both wearing, the feel of each other's erections.

"Fuck him!"

Methos eyes the man beneath him, who nods eagerly, thrusting up. Methos doesn't need more than that.

 

The two women roll onto the bed, laughing and tugging on each other's shirts. It's a visual that has never gotten old for Methos, though it does not distract him as dangerously as it used to.

He reaches down and begins to stroke himself, slumped in the armchair by the door and perfectly content to watch this time, instead of joining in. A few other people are already splayed out around the room, watching or engaged with each other. A dark-eyed and dark-haired woman crawls over to Methos, eyebrows raised questioningly, and he politely but insistently waves her away. He just wants to watch this time.


End file.
